


there’s a ghost upon the moor tonight

by ohallows



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (mostly again), (mostly. imo), (zolf and hamid talk abt paris and respective crushes the fic), Canon Compliant, Catharsis Ending, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missed Opportunities, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohallows/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: “You know, I had such a crush on you, in Paris,” Hamid confesses out of nowhere, resting his chin on his hand as he stares over Zolf’s shoulder, eyes unfocused from the alcohol and the memories.The words hit Zolf like a shot and he chokes on the sip of grog he’s just taken. It’s - of all the things for Hamid to say, that had been the one he’d never expected to hear.“I… never knew,” he says, feeling like he’s been stunned into silence. It’s as good as anything, he guesses; Hamid gives half a laugh, but there’s only an inch of humour in it as he swirls the grog in his glass.“I suppose I - I… never said anything, in the end,” Hamid murmurs, turning away as he looks into the fire.
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Zolf Smith (pre-relationship), Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith (past and mutually unrequited/requited)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	there’s a ghost upon the moor tonight

**Author's Note:**

> i dont. know. what this is really ngl
> 
> uhhhh i started writing this before 174 so we’re ignoring the crash for the time being, mostly bc it’s annoying to work into this with what i had already written fnskdnsjdn
> 
> EDIT: to make a very long story short, me and my friends were dunking on old fandom banners, my friend dared me to add one, i told them to make me one, and they did. so now this fic has a really great old-timey fandom banner bc i'll do anything that i think is funny at 2am. i promise the fic isn't crack

The fire is warm and crackling, a single bright spot in the dark thicket of forest that surrounds the small clearing they’ve set up in. Everyone is silent, sitting around it; there are sounds of tinkering coming from where Cel is working on the ship just a little ways away, but for the most part, no one is speaking. They’re all rinsed, physically and emotionally; they might be stranded, but they’re alive, and that’s really all that counts in the end. 

Earlier, they’d eaten and discussed a plan for moving forward - how to treat the injured, how to fix the ship, whether or not they’ll need to explore and see if there’s any sort of civilisation nearby… all of that. 

Zolf, meanwhile, is really, _really_ trying hard not to think about how much of a delay this is. Of how much time they’ve spent on the airship already, how… _changed_ the world might be when they get back to it. Two weeks… two weeks is enough for _so_ many things to change. For the losing battle they’ve been fighting for 18 months to move even further along toward defeat, for the infection to adapt to their tactics, to become stronger. 

It’s fine. He’s not thinking about it. He stares at the fire and he doesn’t think about how the engine might be unsalvageable, how the ship might not be functional, how they might need to traverse untold swaths of land on _foot_ and then somehow find a way to Svalbard. All before the world is completely lost. They’re the last best hope, after all. 

Zolf shakes his head and takes another drink of alcohol. He _isn’t thinking about it._

Eventually, nearly everyone heads off to bed; it’s been a long, tiring day, and even with the spells keeping their campsite warm, the cold is starting to bite into their bones. Earhart and the rest of the kobolds leave first, followed closely by Siggif and Friedrich. Carter and Wilde bow out next, and then Skraak. Kiko and Barnes are two of the last to go; Barnes goes over to chat with Cel for a bit, and then turns in as well, but not before giving Zolf a _meaningful_ look and a gesture toward that isn’t hard to read after having spent 18 months with the man. Barnes is the good sort, but he isn’t subtle, and Zolf gets the hint of “tell them to go to sleep” loud and clear. Kiko, meanwhile, lets her hand trail across Azu’s shoulders, a not-so-subtle motion that Zolf catches. He hides his smile in his tankard of grog - he’s over the moon about all of this, really. Azu deserves to have this, more than most, and Zolf knows that Kiko will be the one to treat her kindly. 

Azu is the next to leave, not long after Kiko. She presses a kiss to the top of Hamid’s head and squeezes Zolf’s shoulder before heading off as well, leaving the two of them alone by the campfire. Cel is the only other one who’s still up, over by the engine as they continue to work into the night.

Zolf’s going to need to interfere before long, tell them to get some rest instead of pulling an all-nighter to fix the ship. He knows what Earhart said, but he also knows that Cel is their best - if only - chance of getting out of here, and more than that, he cares about their wellbeing and isn’t going to let them work themselves to the bone. 

It’s not that late, though. He’ll go and talk to them soon. 

“Refill?” Zolf asks, catching Hamid staring down into his mug of grog with a complicated look on his face. His words almost seem to shock Hamid out of some series of thoughts, based on the way he jumps, but he covers it well.

“Yes, please,” Hamid says, holding the cup out to Zolf. There are two points of red in his cheeks, flush from the alcohol, but Zolf isn’t going to be the one to point it out. He pours Hamid another bottle of alcohol - it won’t do to be getting completely pissed in this wasteland, but at least it will take the edge off of the cold. 

Hamid thanks him, quietly, and goes back to staring at the fire, not filling the silence with words the way he used to. 

It’s… Zolf’s getting used to it. The difference, he means, between the Hamid that existed in his head through all those 18 months and the Hamid that showed up in Japan and the Hamid who’s sitting next to him now. He shouldn’t be surprised, really; it had been a long stretch of time between Prague and now, even considering that Hamid didn’t have the benefit of eighteen months of struggle in this new world. 

Still, his brow is curling in that familiar way, and there might be a world’s worth of differences between Hamid then and Hamid now, but Zolf can still read him as easily as anything. Something is sitting on the tip of Hamid’s tongue, he can see it in the lines on his face, but in a rare moment of contradiction, Hamid is keeping it locked up tight. 

“Haven’t really had any one-on-one time for a while,” Zolf says, just for something to fill the air, something that might make Hamid finally spit out what he’s been chewing on. 

“Mm,” Hamid hums, noncommittal, and Zolf lapses back into silence, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs. Hamid will come to it eventually - he’s never been the best at letting things lie, of course, so all Zolf needs to do is sit here and be quiet and wait for Hamid to work through it in his head.

It’s a nice night, at least. The air is a bit colder than he prefers, but the spells are keeping most of the snow and ice at bay, and the fire is warm enough. The stars are twinkling overhead, and another aurora flutters over their head, greens and blues twisting against each other as the lights stretch across the sky. It would be beautiful, if Zolf wasn’t thinking about their ship being half bunting right now. 

Hamid shifts, finally, leans back against the log his back is pressed to, and wraps his arms around his knees, and Zolf braces himself for whatever Hamid wants to talk about. 

“I’m just… I hate how _weird_ everything is between us, now.” Hamid sighs after it, fingers drumming on his thigh as he frowns. 

“We’re different people,” Zolf answers; he doesn’t really know what else to say.

They _are._ The - well, he can’t call it _easy_ cohesion, not really, but the understanding of eighteen months ago isn’t there anymore, not the way he thought it would be when Hamid showed up again. This entire thing has been a re-learning process, for both of them, and even a few months later, Zolf still isn’t completely sure where they stand. It’s no longer an unfamiliar feeling, but that doesn’t mean it’s a pleasant one. 

Hamid sighs. “Yes, of course, I just - it feels… I don’t know. Back then… I - I know we argued a lot, but it never felt… well. I mean, it _did_ at times, really, but I never thought… I don’t know,” Hamid trails off, and then he’s looking at Zolf, and his eyes are bright. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How you can - can argue so much with someone, but not really see it as that?”

Zolf doesn’t know what to say. Hamid’s words are getting all tangled up in themselves again, and it’s so much like before, so much like Paris, that his bones ache with it. But - _but,_ he knows what Hamid means. They - sometimes it feels like all they were was arguing, pushed together on a team that didn’t know what to do with itself. But the only reason they argued is because Zolf knew Hamid could be _better._ Knew that there needed someone to keep him on the right path, when Bertie was doing everything in his power to keep him off it. 

“It feels… different, now,” Hamid says, and sighs. “Now, it just… feels like arguing. Not as _much,_ I suppose, we haven’t had much to argue about since we got on the airship. But, before, it… I don’t know. It felt different.”

Zolf knows what he means, even if he’s less good than Hamid is at phrasing it. There was - well, not less _tension_ back then, but the tension seemed to have a different cause. Zolf doesn’t know how to articulate it, really, so they simply lapse into silence again, uncomfortable and uncertain, and Zolf clenches his tankard of grog tightly, knuckles white as he has another swig.

“You know, I had _such_ a crush on you, in Paris,” Hamid confesses out of nowhere, resting his chin on his hand as he stares over Zolf’s shoulder, eyes unfocused from the alcohol and the memories.

The words hit Zolf like a shot and he chokes on the sip of grog he’s just taken. It’s - of all the things for Hamid to say, that had been the one he’d never expected to hear. 

“I… never knew,” he says, feeling like he’s been stunned into silence. It’s as good as anything, he guesses; Hamid gives half a laugh, but there’s only an inch of humour in it as he swirls the grog in his glass.

“I suppose I - I… never said anything, in the end,” Hamid murmurs, turning away as he looks into the fire.

“Why didn’t you?” Zolf asks, and it’s hypocritical of him, really, considering that _he_ didn’t, either.

“We, well - I mean, there was the Mr Ceiling business, and then…” Hamid makes a vague gesture that Zolf thinks he’s using to mean the whole, er - the whole _legs_ and _Poseidon_ thing. “And then we were fleeing, and the airship, and _Prague,_ and - I don’t know. It - by the time I, er, _realised_ , it never… felt like the right time, I suppose. And then we didn’t have _any_ time..”

Zolf… doesn’t really know what to say to that, if he’s honest. He - he’d refused to read into anything between himself and Hamid, back then, pushed it all away under a guise of ‘he just cares this much about everyone’, and then the airship and Prague and he was _gone._

Maybe. Maybe he should have. 

“Can I - can I ask you something?” Hamid asks, lips pressed together tightly as he finally turns and looks at Zolf, and there’s _something_ in his eyes that looks a lot like determination and feels a lot like fear, and Zolf swallows heavily. He can still read Hamid, after all, and he thinks he knows what the question is going to be, and it scares him a bit, too. 

“I mean,” he gestures to the empty space around them, “not much else to do, is there?” He tries to hide the tension in his voice; he’s not sure if he’s altogether successful, but Hamid doesn’t say anything, just… takes a deep breath, as though the next words are some of the hardest he’s ever had to utter. 

Maybe they are. 

“If - if I had. Said something,” Hamid says, and there’s a hesitancy there, a carefulness that seems like he’s walking over broken glass. He doesn’t have to specify what he means; Zolf knows exactly what he’s trying to get at. “Would - would you -“

He trails off, as though he isn’t sure how he wants that sentence to end; Zolf knows how he feels. It’s a simulation he’s run a thousand times in his own head; what would have happened if he’d accepted Hamid’s help in Paris? Taken his hand? If he’d stayed, because Hamid had asked? If he’d listened to his own emotions, tried to sort them out before leaving?

He’s turned the question over in his mind so many times, and each time he stumbles over the ending, because every single time he doesn’t know how he wants it to end. Sometimes he thinks he might have stayed; might have _tried_ to stay afloat instead of sinking to the bottom. Sometimes he thinks he would have just broken in Prague, broken right when he needed to help, and people would have gotten hurt. Sometimes he thinks he would have taken Hamid’s hand in that damn brewery and he would have pulled him close and everything would have been _fine._

He could stop this whole line of questioning, if he really wanted. Maybe he _should_ stop it, leave them both in the limbo of never knowing “if”, leave them both forever wondering until they finally move on. Maybe there’s a solace in not knowing, especially now, especially when they’re going to keep working together after this. 

But - gods, _but -_ he’s… tired. Of this. Of dancing around it, of pretending it never happened, of pretending like he would have done anything apart from tell Hamid he feels the same way, regardless of how pointless it would have been in the end. 

“Yeah, er - I. Er. Yeah. I… I think I would’ve,” Zolf says, and it’s like a lock opens in his chest, revealing something he’s had hidden away for, well. Over eighteen months, if he’s being honest with himself. He would have. 

“I think about it, sometimes. Well, I used to, I suppose? Before…” Hamid waves his hands again, at the forest around him, at the world that’s been nigh unrecognisable ever since he landed back in it. “After you left, I - I thought about kissing you in the brewery. Convincing you to stay.”

“I don’t… I don’t know if I would have,” Zolf says, and it’s as honest as he knows how to be. Hamid’s earned that much, at least. “I wouldn’t have minded it, though.”

This time, when Hamid laughs, it’s not quiet and confused and bitter, and when he looks back up at Zolf, there’s only a hint of regret in his gaze. 

“I think… I think we would have worked,” Hamid says, and there’s something in his voice that tears at Zolf’s chest, but it doesn’t change the fact that so much time has passed, and they’re both different people than they were back then. His voice is strong with it, too, 

“Yeah, I - we would have given it a shot,” Zolf says. He’s never been the best with absolutes, but there’s something about this, something about the two of them, that makes him agree with Hamid. They would have worked. For a time, maybe, or for forever. It’s - no one can say for certain, not with how many variables have come into play, especially for both of them in particular. 

“This is… a silly thing I suppose, but…I don’t know if I still feel that way. About - about you, I mean,” Hamid says, and there’s something _hurt_ in those words, something broken that Zolf wishes he knew how to fix. “There’s so much… space, between us, now. So much time. You already said it, but we’re… we’re different people now. It would - it’s already taken us longer than I thought to get to this point, to get back to trusting each other again.”

“...Sorry,” Zolf says, quiet, and Hamid waves his hand.

“It’s - well, it was both of us, really,” he says. Zolf doesn’t know if he agrees. 

He can still remember Wilde telling him that Hamid was coming back, can still remember the mix of relief and apprehension and _guilt_ that surged through his veins, and then the anger and pain when Wilde corrected him, said that it was only Hamid. Hamid and someone Zolf didn’t know. Hamid and someone who _wasn’t_ _Sasha_. And then he saw Hamid again, and it was someone mostly recognisable, someone closed off and angry, and Zolf wasn’t sure how to combine the two Hamid’s in his head until much later. Definitely not until after the Institute.

“I’m still sorry,” he says. He’s not really sure what else to say, in this awkward space where they’re both trying to come to terms with everything.

“I suppose we missed our chance,” Hamid murmurs, and then brushes his fingers under his eyes. “There are - it seems silly to keep repeating it, but everything is so different now, we really… we both had to move on, in - in different ways.”

“...yeah,” is all Zolf says to that, and his gaze trails over to where Cel is tinkering with the engine. They’re still working, and even though he can’t make out the look on their face at this distance, the curve of their shoulders and back seems stressed. He can sense more than _see_ Hamid following his gaze, and there’s a long stretch of silence that Zolf doesn’t really know how to interpret.

“...Cel?” Hamid guesses, voice soft, and Zolf _doesn’t_ blush, really, but his heart does speed up. His fingers twitch where they rest on his thigh, and he swallows. 

“Not that subtle, am I?” he mutters, and, well, maybe he _is_ blushing after all. Or maybe it’s the alcohol, slowly burning it’s way through his system and making his cheeks heat up. 

“Zolf…” Hamid says, trailing off as though he’s thought better of it, but then his hand reaches out and covers Zolf, squeezing briefly for a moment before it drops back to his side. His hand is warm, and stronger than Zolf remembers it being, and for a moment he’s transported back to Paris. Back to before the infection hit, back to when he felt like he was drowning without any way to get out. 

Zolf wants to turn his hand, wants to hold Hamid’s back, but there’s - well, Hamid said it first, didn’t he? There’s so much _space_ , and Zolf doesn’t know what’s acceptable anymore, doesn’t know what Hamid would take from him. 

“I’m happy for you,” Hamid says, and it’s so _earnest,_ eyes shimmering as he looks at Zolf, and, yeah, Zolf realises that they really _could_ have worked, in a different time and place. 

“Don’t, er,” Zolf stammers, thoughts swirling in his mind as Hamid pulls his hand back. “Don’t be yet, I haven’t - that is - well, they don’t, er - it’s - it’s just me, for now, er. It’s. Yeah, er - thanks, Hamid.”

Hamid’s smile doesn’t diminish at all when he looks over toward Cel for a moment, but it does, well. _Shift_ . There’s a tinge of sadness there, of longing, and Zolf can recognise it as _wanting_ something like that. He’s seen the same look on his face in the mirror, sometimes, anytime he’d thought about the casual ease of Azu and Kiko and how they interact. 

“Don’t be so sure,” Hamid says, more cryptic than he normally is, and Zolf starts.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and Hamid turns back to face him.

“That it’s just you,” he clarifies, and, yeah, Zolf is _definitely_ blushing now, he can feel the heat spreading through his cheeks and creeping up the back of his neck. 

Hamid clears his throat, awkwardly, and rises, taking the blanket that he’d been sitting on and wrapping it around his shoulders. He leans in, and for a moment, just half of a second, Zolf lets his eyes slip shut as he wonders if Hamid will - but, no, Hamid’s lips just brush his cheek for no longer than a second, and then he’s gone, and the warmth that he brings with him _everywhere_ (it’s a dragon thing, it _has_ to be a dragon thing, there’s no other explanation) is gone too. 

“Good night, Zolf. Sleep well,” Hamid says, pulling the blanket tighter around himself against the chill of the night. He disappears, heading back toward his own tent, and Zolf watches him leave, his own words dying in the back of his throat. 

Eventually, he rises on legs that are more wobbly than they should be, and he glares down at the prosthetics until the rest of him calms down and he can walk without stumbling. Cel is still working on the engine, although their movements have slowed as the night’s pressed on. Zolf should - he should go over there. He can see the tension in their shoulders, and he doesn’t want them to be working late into the night, especially when they still have all day tomorrow to work at it. 

He starts to head over, and the pauses, sparing half a glance to where Hamid disappeared into the tent, and… wonders. It’s not - it’s not an ending, not _really,_ but at the same time, it kind of is. It’s a closing of the books, a mutual understanding that once upon a time both of them felt the same, but they were ships in the night that passed by each other without either of them saying anything. In a different time, in a different place, maybe one of them would have. Maybe if Zolf stayed - but, no. There’s no use rewriting the past, especially when they don’t even know what their future will hold. 

He takes a deep breath and lets the memories fade away into the background, only to be prodded at when he has another lonely night and doesn't care to stop himself from wandering back and thinking about what could have been. 


End file.
